The Grass is Greener
by Highend
Summary: 10051. Shouichi hadn't asked to live, he was merely existing: until, that is, he is given another chance to live. Canonverse for what it's worth . Shouichi-centric. Character growth.


» **Title:** The Grass is Greener  
» **Summary: **If you were given the chance to live again, would you take? If you could change the past, would you? Even if it meant all your accomplishments, everything you've worked for, would vanish? Shouichi is given a chance to live his life again - to go back into the past, and change things for better or for worse.

» **Notes: **... So I died. Yes, its true. Then I got rid of all the stories I wasn't happy with, yes, that's true as well. I'm not denying it. At all - why should I? It happened, and so there's no point in saying that it didn't. The important thing, is that I'm back, and I've got this lovely story for you. Just a short little prologue for now, but... it's good enough as of yet. Enjoy.

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**The Grass is Greener  
Prologue**  
"_O soul, be changed into little waterdrops,  
And fall into the ocean — ne'er to be found._"  
— Christopher Marlowe, _Doctor Faustus_

「 — 時間。」

_There's probably no going back_, his mind supplied, and was rebuked by the _who would want to live like this any longer?_

Time, all he needed was a few more seconds, three more minutes and perhaps everything would have changed - everything. Or everything _could_ have changed, if he had just gotten to the scene just moments earlier, instead of when it was all said and done. Instead of when a child had just been made into a murderer, and the man he sought to _save_ was burned away until there was _nothing_ left. Nothing left but the slightly charred ring that clattered to the ground and lost its luminescent sheen.

A few moments earlier and there would have been a still innocent child, and one life saved. Just moments earlier and the ring would still be resting on one of those pale, pianist's fingers. It would still be glowing and flickering with pastel flames, and there would still be that soft, childish voice whispering lies he loved, and a laughing smile to match - oh, the things that would still be. The things that would still be, could have been, and would have been, but for that delay to make it all fail. Oh, those little things that caused everything, and nothing at the same time - oh, the little things.

The final straw must have been when the Varia slaughtered the remaining Funeral Wraiths while the Vongola were busy saying their good-byes and wondering what would happen in the past, while the Arcobaleno were busy doing what they were doing to make the past a better place for the Vongola. Supposedly sealing up a third of the trinisette to prevent this whole deal from happening, and sending the memories of these events to all the individuals (minus that man) involved. Surely this would have worked, surely it _must _have - but as the Vongola returned to the past, he knew that it hadn't.

His heart had clenched in his chest when the young, not-so-innocent-anymore Vongola of the past returned to that past, that supposedly peaceful past. It had ticked, stuttered, and beat onward as nothing happened. There was no change, no anything - not even the slightest alteration in his memories. Sure, he had listened to the green-haired baby explain that it would take some time for the changes to take effect (memory loss, twisting memories, knowing people he didn't know). But he knew, he knew beyond what they were _telling_ him, that nothing had changed and it was all the same.

And thus it would be, it would be the same for a great length of time. Horrible things (murder, torture, experimentation, rape) would still be in his mind, nagging at the part of him that tried to remain civilized before these people he knew, but didn't know. He knew their names and faces, pretended he knew more about them then he really did, but knew nothing about them - and that was how it always was. He knew nothing about them - and so knew everything - while they knew nothing about him. It had always been this way, so it didn't matter when he said he couldn't do it anymore.

He pulled his most serious mask on when he went to state his decision to the Vongola, to explain why he was just leaving the mafia, why they had to keep people from following him, why the only way they would be able to contact him was through Spanner. It went surprisingly well, because they knew the only reason he had gotten involved was because of a dead man, and now that that man was dead, he had absolutely no reason to be involved in the shadier side of life. And so Irie Shouichi, second-in-command to the world's enemy, disappeared from the public and private eyes.

So he lived in the seclusion of a small apartment in America near the university that he had met both Spanner and that man, speaking to Spanner only on the small occasions that the engineer dropped by with plans and things for robots and computers. Asking for opinions on his latest mosca projects, and occasionally bringing takeout or the strangest sweets. Now and then to flip to Comedy Central and share a few laughs at the harsh American comedians, and how right they were.

He left his confinement only to go to the movies alone, to head the grocery store for food, and to stroll through the park in the haze of twilight. It was a dull existence full of robotic motions, routines, and plenty of sleep on the couch instead of the bed. Plenty of sleep curled up in the fluffy, white comforter of when he had worked and lived with that man. Plenty of time spend on that couch, poking around his laptop and tweaking the games on it, and finding himself working away on designs for robots but not really doing anything to make those things a reality.

It wasn't much of an existence, and Shouichi felt himself withering away as the days blurred into minutes, as the months blurred to hours, and as a year went buy in a heart beat. Dark rings appeared around his eyes, and his bones started creaking and groaning whenever he stood to go about his business. He wasn't eating as much as he could have, and sometimes he swore he forgot to sleep when he woke up from a nap. It wasn't a good existence, but it was existing.

Shouichi hadn't asked to live, and so all he was doing was existing.

And so he existed.

Eventually Spanner stopped visiting, eventually even the Vongola stopped trying to locate him, and his system was no longer being hacked into. He simply wasn't worth the time, trouble, and resources. And so began his isolation from the world, and so he became this meek thing that couldn't go out in the daylight, or wake up in the morning, or do much for himself on his own. Except for the occasional phone call from Spanner, there was no socialization of any kind.

It was during this time that he decided to go for a walk in the park at night, with only the dim lights of the streetlamps to guide his way, and no gray face in the sky to look somberly on. He looked like some ethereal thing, a divine spirit walking forth from his grave to seek out some mortal comfort, oh, he looked like some sad soul as he wandered through the dark. Little webs of blue and purple popped up against his bare arms, and summer winds tickled his cheeks, and ruffled his rumpled clothes.

Shouichi traversed the concrete paths despite the protest of his body, despite the lethargy that hung about his every motion. Despite the fact that his skin startled crawling, and the back of his neck prickled something odd. His heart started hammering away in his chest, and a faint trickle of sweat slid down his throat. And then he heard it, the rustle of the grass, the crackle of the shrubs, and then there was this ragged breathing behind him and he turned - and there was an old woman.

Her face was gnarled and red, wispy strands of ash colored hair fell down in a braid upon her back, and her unrecognizable hands were resting on her knees as she wheezed. As Shouichi approached her to ask if she was alright, and if there was anything he could do, she shushed him from her troubles, and stood upright. She swung her head to stare into his eyes, to return his dead stare with her own lively, twinkly black eyes.

"Wat's yer name, ya kid, wat's yer name," she sputtered out, holding up a wrinkled hand in greeting, before letting it drop down to her side. When he didn't answer, merely stared in a stunned silence, she mowed on as the elderly tended to do, "Ya gotta 'ave a name, or 'ave ya forgotten it, 'ave ya? Well den, tell ya wat ya ded boy, I dun need ya name ta work me magic - just tell ma wat ya want and I can give it ta ya."

He blinked once in that belayed way the dead do, and managed without much cracking or hoarseness on his part, "Who... are you?"

"Oi, vey! I offa 'im anytin' he wants, an' all 'ee can do is ask me who I am! Pheuh, ya know who I am ya kid, now just tell me wat ya want and I can make it 'appen. Ah, yea, I can make anytin' ya want happen: ya want someone ded? I can do that. Ya want a purdy woman? I can do that. I can do anytin', so tell me want yer wantin', and so it shall be, yea," she repeated, avoiding the question entirely, and focused only on Shouichi, pressing a finger to his chest, "So? Wat'll it be?"

"I..." Shouichi trailed off, looking for the thing he wanted most of all, finding it hard and out of reach in that _alive_ time, and so found the right words, "I want to live again."

The old woman frowned, "Ya want ta live again? Ya ain't livin' now - wat a shilly kid."

"You said you can do anything, right? I want to live again, to go back to that time before, when I was _alive_, and living and not just being," he snapped, expression growing tight and close to hysteria, "I want —"

"— I herd ya da 'irst time, kid. An' I git just da ting fer ya," she interrupted, pulling from the folds of her dress a singular object, dark in hue tipped with a round, silver cap, "Take dis wit ya, an' if ya believe it ta be so, den drink it an' ya'll wake up in dat time yer wantin', wit dat second chance ya be askin' fer."

He took the flask from her proferred hand, being careful not to let his hand touch her leathery paws, and examined the container with haste before looking up to thank her - only to find that the old woman had up and vanished. Taken aback, Shouichi glanced down to the cold flask in his hands, to the empty space infront of him. Dazed, confused, and incredibly tired, he stumbled back to his apartment, and let the flask fall to the floor as he slumped onto the couch and into the comforter.

He felt drawn to the black thing resting on the white carpet, rolling back and forth as if it were a living being, and attracting his attention each time he tried to fall asleep. Grumbling to himself, he kept replaying the hallucination in his head over and over again, before deciding that there wasn't any harm in drinking some strange substance that could possibly make his life just a tad better. Sleep deprivation being the big factor in his dulled thought process as he picked the flask up, and popped the silver top off.

In reality, the process took him days to get around to, to get around to tasting the peculiar substance within. It took him a call from Spanner trying to get him to come to a convention where the Vongola would be at, where he would be showing off his best and brightest mosca, and him refusing to go. He never would have refused before, and so he made the decision to sit and stare at the flask, willing it to come up with the answer he was seeking.

Shouichi never got the answer from the object, but he certainly made his decision.

_There's probably no going back_, his mind supplied, and was rebuked by the _who would want to live like this any longer?_

Mind made up and satisfied, Shouichi brought the thing to his lips and downed it in one gulp, and settled down to finally being able to sleep. Only in that haze between awakeness and sleep did he realize that tonight had had stars up and about, but no moon while just the day before it had been a half moon - but it slipped away as the land of muggy dreams, and groggy senses claimed his mind and clarity for what it was worth.

His dreams weren't of anything particular that night, merely accompanied by a longing tug in his navel, and the feeling that he was leaving a great deal of things behind. It felt like a deep, deep part of him was missing, never to return; but then it faded as light trickled in and turned his vision red. It wasn't the red that woke him up, but his stomach constricting and demanding food, so he woke cranky.

So Shouichi woke, groggy and wanting food, to a room he hadn't fallen asleep in.

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» **Notes: **Cliffhanger's are a bitch, no? (;

Hahaha, well, I don't have much to say otherwise, except that I'm a slow updater (yay). So don't say I didn't warn ya.


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